Alternate Arus
by Kristina Marie
Summary: And now, for something completely different. Which I never write. What happens when the rules change? Who wins? Who loses? Who will write the first review?
1. Chapter 1

This story goes quite sideways. As many of you know, I tend to take the world and the twist the story. Sometimes with great success, sometimes, not so much. This is not a comedy, nor a romance. It is a dark alternate universe where the light slips in between the cracks, rather than blinding everyone in its path.

Connor walked with confidence down the hallway, escorted by two guards. He moved much slower than his escort desired, pausing to look at the trophies placed strategically, mounted on the walls or displayed in curio cabinets or on occasional tables. Occasionally, he paused as if studying a particularly gruesome item or read one of the signs designed to intimidate the unwary. The two guards, indistinguishable in their helmets and body armor, exchanged obvious signs of impatience and eyerolling at Connor's pace. Inwardly, the diplomat smiled. He knew the power of setting the stage and taking control of negotiations from the beginning. Word would have already spread to the throne room, that he showed neither fear nor arrogance nor impatience to arrive.

After twenty minutes of dilly-dallying, Conner turned and with purposeful strides walked into the throne room, leaving the guards rushing to catch up so he entered the room, not as a penitent, but as an equal. The room quieted as he boldly walked up to the throne, bowing shallowly to its occupant and giving a nod of greeting to the gruesome figure standing to the right of the throne. He fell back into a relaxed waiting pose, not allowing his eyes to break contact with the figure in the throne. A sardonic lift to the right side of his mouth, and a slightly raised eyebrow told the ruler he found these little games silly, but would willingly play them to give the right impressions to the rest of the court.

The king returned the look with one of his own before raising his scepter and pointing it directly at Connor. "Speak."

Sifting through several responses, Connor decided on the riskier venture. "Should I a dog be, verily wouldst I bark at the command so uttered in a voice demanding obedience. Or should I a courier wishing favor, would I fawn and praise your majesty in words dripping with obsequiousness. Perhaps a prisoner or a sycophant wouldst beg prettily or wretchedly for pity or mercy not forthcoming. Alas, none of those be I, therefore a different response should I give. A moment of thought, then, and shall I compose a reasonable response." He lifted his hand to his chin in an exaggerated pose of thought, hiding the trembling in his hand at his gamble. If wrong, he would die before he could present the proposal, dooming his planet and people. His heart pounded at the excitement and the uncertainty.

Only a moment passed before a bark of laughter greeted his audaciousness, with a cackle from the standing figure echoing a moment later. "Bold words, indeed. Too often do our lesser prattle onward and waste our time with lies and deceptions. We are pleased with this. Tell me then, of your mission."

Inwardly, Connor felt the rush of endorphins that his gamble had paid off. He nodded with a small smile and then took a breath before opening his arms and giving a second lower bow. "Greetings do I bring from Arus. Salutations from their royal majesties Queen Allura Arienda and King Keith Kogane. They bid me approach and deliver from them a proposal for your considerations."

Gasps greeted his pronouncement and a buzz quickly spread around the court. Connor returned to his relaxes stance as he waited for the reaction to his announcement. Nothing could match the rush he felt when standing before a ruler who held the power of life and death. He watched the hooded figure next to the throne study him intently. _Go ahead witch, study all you like. You will not find what you need in me._ He found himself having to suppress a laugh at the frustration in her eyes. After several minutes, she crooked one finger at the figure in the throne, who leaned over to listen to her whispered words while his eyes scanned the court as the buzz grew over Connor's announcement.

The king nodded and then stood. The throne room immediately quieted. "We will confer with the diplomat in private." He turned and walked to a door hidden behind the throne without further addressing Connor or the court.

A woman dressed in livery diffidently approached Connor after the King and his advisor's departure. "Sir Diplomat, if you would be so kind as to follow?"

Nodding, Connor walked with deceptive casualness behind his guide as they walked through the intrigue filled court. The members of the court openly studied and speculated as to the benefits of approaching him or the disaster he could bring. He would stake his reputation that the bets quickly flowing as to his reason for coming would never come close. The guide led him the most direct path that avoided most of the nobles vying for his attention to a smaller door guarded by two very large soldiers. Leaving him at the door the aide offered a small smile, "Though the door good sir. Remember to find the balance between respect and audaciousness, his majesty likes those who are bold, but will severely punish those he deems disrespectful. Good luck, sir." With a small bow, the aide turned and walked away. Connor debated whether to put a cat in the hen house, but let the aide leave without a further word. He walked through the door, mentally preparing himself for the upcoming meeting. It would prove most delicious.

"Any word?"

"Patience. It takes several months to travel to Doom, and longer to avoid the patrols. Have faith in Connor. We have prepared for this for nearly a year. Now, we wait."

"I hate waiting."

"I've noticed," came the sardonic reply.

Fingers tapped impatiently for a few minutes while the other sat and read reports. Finally, the fingers stopped and the figure rose and put a hand between the other's face and the reader. "Maybe," came the sultry invitation, "you can distract me for a while."

The reader dropped with a clang on the table and the man pulled the woman into his lap. "That can be arranged." He plunged his hands into her hair and fastened his mouth to hers. The two passed a very pleasant afternoon.

The young man spun around in the chair. "Bored, bored, bored, bored, bored."

"Knock it off. Some of us are working."

"Working shmurking. I am bored."

"Well, go be bored somewhere else. Bug him and her."

"No bloody way. Last time I interrupted, I had my ass handed to me and then found myself stuck with the junior class. I am not that desperate for entertainment!"

"Hey, you should have known better. He has trained her for the last several years. If she kicked your ass, I assume he sat and watched."

"And laughed until he nearly fell off the bench. Yeah, yeah. Which is why I am not going to interrupt him and her again."

"So go find someone else to bother. _Some_ of us actually work, you know."

"Maybe I can go find a maid to bother."

"Good idea, just scram."

"Because I said so."

"But I do not _need_. . ."

"Yes you do. I will not have it said I do not dress you appropriately. You have grown several inches and your ankles are showing. Suck it up, and stand still."

"Yes, ma'am."

"And another thing, we need to have a talk about the rules and regulations about my staff."

"But. . ."

"But me no buts. You have developed quite a reputation amongst my girls and it disrupts their working."

"I did not mean. . ."

"Of course you did not mean. Does not mean it does not happen. You will come to my rooms after dinner and we will talk about deportment. Now, go change without disturbing my markings or pins."

"Yes, ma'am."

Connor found himself in a room without guards and only the King and his closest advisor in attendance. A seat at the end of the table waited for him. Sliding into the chair he looked at the king, "Trusting to let me sit here without anyone guarding your back. How do you know I have not rigged myself with a bio-bomb or some other improbable device of destruction?

The advisor cackled and spoke from inside her brown hood. "You passed many scanners on the way to the throne room from the mundane to the magical. You could not have advanced this far without triggering an alarm before you arrived."

Connor nodded, "Good to know."

The King taped his long, clawed finger on the table, "Now that you have set our court buzzing, and most likely our son on a rampage, tell us of this news and why you come. It seems a bold thing for to do, and most out of character."

"There has been a shift in politics on Arus, your majesty. I can tell you their majesties have worked with many people for many months to bring this proposal to you. They feel this conflict between these planets has stalemated for far too long. Too many resources that could go elsewhere end up designated to combat the attack forces you send against the planet. In a game of attrition, there is no winner. You spend more time and effort into building forces than we spend destroying them. Often we can scavenge the losses to make up for some of the resources lost, except for the personnel. As you know, Garrison does supply us with some ground personnel and we continue to train our people, but it comes down to the farmers and the craftsmen, and the manufacturers. We cannot continue to replace those people and the King and Queen are unwilling to let the children do more than they already do."

"Why would you share this intelligence with us?"

Connor allowed himself a depreciative smile, "Come now, your majesty, this information is nothing surprising nor anything your spies have already told you. I do not give any secrets away, merely setting the stage for the play."

"A play?"

"It that not what all negotiates ultimately are? A play where we carefully step and say our lines, except the ending has not yet been written."

The king did not respond, but continued rhythmically tapping his finger.

Connor folded his hands in front of him on the table and returned the king's unblinking stare.

"You show no fear. We cannot sense any duplicity nor smell any of the normal human funk that gives us information. Why?"

The diplomat showed no surprise in the sudden change of subject. He deliberately took his time answering, making a show of considering carefully his answer. "Because I have nothing to fear."

"You come with no escort, no way of help reaching you. We could easily take you prisoner, torture you, and kill you. No one would ever know."

"Yes. You could."

"Why should we not?"

Connor leaned over his hands. "Curiosity."

The king roared in laughter. "We like you. You appeal to our sense of humor. Come, then. Before we talk further, let us test your mettle." He rose and gestured Connor to follow him. "Witch, make all ready."

"As you command, your majesty." The hooded figure walked out a side door, while the King walked out a second that led to a hallway empty of people but holding more trophies.

As they walked down the hallway, the King began telling Connor of various conquests and describing how he acquired each of the various trophies. As he listened, Connor found the pattern of the trophies. The ones on public display demonstrated the power of the planet; of the army. The ones here came from battles the King had personally fought. A preserved hand with a signet ring from the Planet Kraal, where the King had dispatched the ruler of the planet in single combat over fifty years earlier. A doll he had taken from the Princess of Narba while she slept in her crib, to demonstrate to her father the uselessness of battling the inevitable. The planet had continued to resist, until in one night, he and his soldiers had left calling cards in the beds and cribs of hundreds of children in different parts of the planet. The surrender had come the next day.

Connor continued to listen to the stories, his mind absorbing and evaluating what the king said as well as what he did not. The more he listened, the better he understood and could manipulate the king to his own desires. It would result in the most delicious sensation when he won.

The pilots ran to the launch room as the alarms blared. Their leader looked at the incoming bogies and nodded to himself. He headed to the launch tubed as he began giving instructions to the ground crews. "Execute plan Delta. Secondary flight staff to the ready room. Primary is a go. Tertiary is a go. Launch in 90 seconds. Confirm."

"Ground crew, execute plan Delta. 90 seconds to launch. Confirmed."

"Secondary flight to ready room. Confirmed."

"Primary is a go. Loading now. Launch in 90 seconds. Confirmed."

"Tertiary is a go. Primed to load. Primary launch in 90 seconds. Tertiary launch in 1.30. Confirmed."

"Execute. Leader 1 out. Command team launch is a go. Command team, silent and deadly."

In less than 90 seconds, the five command ships and the first wave of fighters launched into the air. Per the instruction, no one opened communications to the enemy fleet nor answered any hails from the enemy fleet. Their commander tried to break into the frequency used by the defenders, but the technical team blocked the attempts.

The ground crews began launching drones, targeting the command ships. The enemy shot down most of the drones before they reached their target, but enough made it through the defenses to start wreaking havoc on enemy communications. Spoofing drones changed the commands sent out to the robot fighters. Some of the fighters fired on their own ships, others changed coursed and headed out into space or headed toward the command ships.

The commander watched as their own fighters took hits. He saw parachutes opening in various parts of the battle field, and sent a prayer up that the pilots would land in relative safety. The command team did their best to protect those ejected warriors, while coordinating their own portion of the defense. The pilots did not always have a chance to eject before the destruction of their fighter, but the time for mourning would come later.

The number of enemy ships began to decrease, and the ground crew began targeting the fighter ships, trying to cripple or destroy their ability to continue to launch ships. With their more powerful fighters, the command crew switched from protection of downed pilots to actively moving against the larger freighters and battleships. They managed to destroy two of the capital ships within five minutes. As they began to attack a third, a small pod ejected from one of the support ships. Immediately, the crew monitoring for just such an occurrence sent out the alert. Just as a beam from the support ship enveloped the pod, a missile hit the beam cutting it off, and a series of missiles began to hit the pod one after another. In moments, the pod disintegrated into dust and the remaining missiles passed through the empty space to hit the support ship.

As if the destruction of the pod sent a signal, the enemy fleet began to retreat.

The defenders did not cease their attacks, but continued to harry the enemy. Three of the ships started to lag as repeated hits from missiles destroyed their propulsion systems. Smoke plumed from over a dozen ships. The three lagging ships sent surrender messages and began to power down their weapons systems. As they did, two of the retreating capital ships redirected their covering fire to the ships, destroying them rather than allowing a surrender. As the ships began to fall, escape pods started ejecting. The retreating ships continued to fire on the escape pods, and the defenders scrambled to protect the escape pods and to redirect the faltering ships away from inhabited lands.

The enemy used the destruction of their own ships to cover their retreat. The ships limped away from the planet as fast as their engines allowed.

The commander of the defenders looked around at the destruction of his planet and closed his eyes for a moment. It meant more lists of dead. More lists of crops destroyed. More resources wasted on a war not of their making. With an inward sigh, he returned to base to begin another round of rebuilding lives, scrounging scrap from the wreckage of the downed ships, replanting crops, and figuring out what to do with the latest batch of enemy combatants. He could only hope and pray their plan would work and bring an end to all of this.


	2. Chapter 2

I just want to point out, this is a K&A story with no angst around the relationship, no screwy circumstance. Which proves, I CAN write a perfectly happy story about the two of them and just mess up the story in every other way!

Any thoughts you care to leave feeds the ego of this author, who waits with bated breath to hear what people think of my latest twisting of the story. Ok, maybe not with bated breath, but it does give me a thrill when they pop up!

Enjoy.

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The command staff gathered in the ready room, waiting for the commander. The members of the staff exchanged glances. It would take less than a day for their king to hear of the battle. At top speed they could return home in 19 days, but with so many of their ships crippled, leaking air, fuel, and barely holding together, estimates said it would take twice as long to reach their planet, and nearly two weeks to reach friendly space.

"Never seen them fight like that before."

"What were those missiles they sent? They sent out some kind of signal, but self-destructed before we had a chance to determine what they did."

"Cannot believe we fired on our own ships. Wonder how many people we lost."

"We lost several of our best commanders. Not sure where we go from here."

"Stupid waste of resources. We will never defeat this planet with the current scenarios and being stationed here is a death sentence on any career."

The commander no sooner uttered the words before the rest of the room saw a flash of light. Their prince stood behind the man with his glowing sword out. With a casual gesture, he pushed the tip of his sword against the back of the man's head, where it fell forward onto his lap. The rest of his body slumped forward, with the body coming to rest against the conference table.

"Death sentence carried out. Anyone else with any other comments about their current assignments?"

The remaining commanders responded with shakes of the head and murmured denials.

"Good." The Prince sauntered to his place at the head of the table, casually holstering his sword back onto his belt. "I want to know what went wrong today. My father will require _some_ explanation, and frankly I want to avoid his wrath as much as possible. Depending on his response, we may need to implement measures to prevent mass defections from the fleet. That piece of meat there may have made a poor choice in expressing his feelings, but the sentiment will run throughout the fleet. Comments? Oh, and do tell the truth. I am granting a free pass right now."

Silence greeted the prince's words. In the quiet of the night, people referred to him as the Mad Prince, but never to his face. In the last several years, his obsessions with Arus and its crown princess had left a wake of bodies behind him at any perceived disagreement with his course of action.

The prince began tapping his fingers impatiently on the table top, "Well?"

Finally, the oldest commander in the room cleared his throat. "Your Highness, this battle did not follow any of the normal reactions of the planet. They did not engage in any communications with our fleet, and actively blocked any demands we tried to send."

The prince waved an impatient hand, "I am aware of that."

"We did not hear chatter over their lines as normal, which would allow us to follow their patterns and then determine where to launch the secondary attacks or when to launch the beast. No chatter between pilots, no chatter amongst the command ships. At least none that we could break. I do not know if they have new codes, new communications, or something different entirely, but it meant we could not anticipate any of their moves.

"Second, they launched some kind of new missiles at us that disrupted our communications, and left us unable to send commands to the robot fighters. It appeared they also sent overrides to our robots which caused them to change directions abruptly."

"To the robots or to their planes?" Inquired the prince.

The older man shrugged his shoulders, "We could not determine at this time, Your Highness. The tech people had their hands full, and the missiles either self-destructed, or quit transmitting after moments, which did not give our people enough time to capture the communication bursts."

"Hmmmm." The fingers did not stop their tapping. "Anything else?"

"They also managed to send a missile to stop the energy beam from hitting the beast for more than a moment. We do not know how they even knew which ship would launch it. The missile struck literally moments after the beam started. We lost that particular ship, so have no way of determining how they targeted it. In short, your Highness, it felt like we had never faced these people in combat before, and spent the entire time scrambling to catch up."

"Hmmmm." The prince turned to look at the wall of the conference room where a picture of one of the great battles of history hung. The fingers kept their rhythmic tapping, until the unease shrouded the room. The rest of the command staff did not utter a word but kept their gazes lowered, as if trying to avoid notice. "Commander. . . "

"Pellan, your Highness."

"I appreciate your honest evaluation. You will join me at supper and bring me further analysis and potential solutions. I also grant you a promotion to High Commander with all the rights and duties that accompany it."

Pellan stood and bowed to the Prince. "You honor me."

"No. I am giving you the worst job in the world." He sent a toothy grin at the newly promoted High Commander, "You will be presenting your findings to my father." The prince laughed as Pellan's face took on a sickly pallor at the thought. "Supper, Pellan. And I suggest you make offerings to the ancestors for their intervention."

"Yes, your Highness."

"You may all leave now."

With a quick scraping of chairs, the room emptied except for the prince. He called for a glass of wine and a slave girl to deliver it before returning to his contemplation of the picture, his mind seeking solutions.

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Connor found himself sitting next to the King in a box above an arena. Below, two gladiators emerged onto the field and walked to stand before the King bowing and saluting. Connor looked at both combatants. Neither looked particularly anxious.

Without any fanfare, the two gladiators took position and an unseen signal began to circle one another. Connor let his eyes unfocus, to allow his peripheral vision to see the king without giving an indication he did. The King did not make any pretense of looking at the gladiators, but instead studied Connor. Running through several scenarios of responses, Connor allowed his gaze to refocus on the combat, and leaned forward in his chair, arms resting on the balcony ledge to give the appearance of intense interest.

The combatants continued to circle, making probing jabs at the other, but neither committing to the fight. At last, one of the two made a small move which the second fighter countered. Three passes of the blade later, and Connor watched as the first warrior came under the second's guard and his sword sliced through the other's neck.

Connor watched as the second warrior dropped to his knees. It took all of Connor's self-discipline to not give any indication of his anticipation or hope that blood would flow. The first warrior finished the move and then watched his opponent. The diplomat concentrated on breathing normally as he waited for the body to fall. Instead, to his surprise, the first gladiator held out a hand and the second gripped the wrist and allowed the first to help him stand.

Connor could not stop his eyes from widening or the surprised exultation he uttered.

On the field, the first gladiator helped the second as they walked back to the door from where they had entered. When they had exited, he finally turned to look at the king, who wore a look of satisfaction.

"Obviously, I do not understand, your Majesty."

The king laughed at the depreciative tone from the diplomat. "Gladiators take years to train and many resources to bring them to a superior fighting level. If they died after every combat, our stock would soon run dry. Our witch came up with a clever way to keep them alive. She enchants the weapons used, so they do not cause any actual physical damage that can lead to death. However, as you witnessed, they cause enormous amounts of pain and suffering to the defeated. Pain, we find, is an amazing motivator, wouldn't you agree, diplomat?"

Mind racing, Connor looked for the trap in the words. "For some people, pain does teach obedience and a way to strive for improvement. For others, it only causes them to shrink into themselves, but the promise of freedom or other nebulous awards causes them to strive even harder."

The king stroked his chin for a moment before laughing, "Ahh, they chose well. We are pleased with this. Come then, we have much to discuss."

Connor gave himself a mental pat on the back for finding the right response, and let himself take a deep breath to enjoy the sensations flooding his brain. He congratulated himself on not only accepting the challenge, but manipulating the players so he could.

The King once again took a circuitous route to yet another room, with a conference table. Water, light snacks, and a pitcher of what looked like wine with glasses adorned the table. Obviously, the King anticipated a long discussion. Connor felt pleased. He knew from studying the king he moved quickly. Diplomats, those who sought favors, conquered peoples, all knew within a short period their fate. The king did not have the patience for the normal dance of diplomacy, although he always tested those who came looking for treaties or partnerships.

Connor waited until the king had sat himself and a servant or slaved poured him wine in a glass and set a plate of delicacies nearby. Connor waited until the young woman served him the save and then left in complete silence. He then raised his glass and saluted the king, "To potential."

The king took a large drink and then smiled toothily, "We shall see. No more dancing, tell me of your purpose."

"As you will. Connor set aside his glass and clasped his hands in front of him leaning forward. "In the next few days you will receive word your latest attempt to defeat the planet has ended in defeat. Most likely one of the largest losses of resources you have seen in some time. We knew of the attack well in advance and planned for it. No, you do not have a mole, and no, I do not know how they knew in advance. My training for this mission kept me in the dark about any and all military matters."

The king nodded, "We cannot extract what you do not know. Someone planned well for that. A most ignoble defeat? No surprise, that son of mine cannot plan strategy and does not listen to his advisors. He had not yet realized that the threat of execution does not inspire people to their best, but only fosters an atmosphere of dissent and scrambling to place the blame elsewhere." The king spoke the words with an air of casualness, but watched Connor closely.

"True. Leadership built on tyranny falls when fear no longer motivates."

"That does not explain why you are here or what you want."

Connor studied the king for a moment, noticing the signs of impatience. Disregarding the rest of his prepared comments he smiled. "A ten-year cease fire with provisions for neutral trade territories."

The king did not even blink. "And why would we grant that?"

"Because the cost analysis for continuing these attacks shows them to be non-sustainable. Especially now that the Queen has a King, and an heir is expected before you could launch another attack."

"That only gives another point of vulnerability for me to exploit."

"Or adds a reason for people to fight harder, innovate more, and bring the fight to you rather than wait; as has been tradition."

A single clawed finger tapped on the table and the king studied Connor for several minutes. Connor kept his heartbeat steady through a huge effort knowing he would take the time to enjoy the rush when dismissed and safe in his own vessel. "Leave us. We will wait this communication and then we will speak again."

Connor rose and bowed to the king. He left through the same door he entered, and found the same escort from earlier waiting for him, along with two more guards in their identical uniforms and helmets. "To my ship, if you please."

"Sir diplomat, we have prepared rooms for you."

"No thanks, I have work to do on my ship."

"But I have been given strict instructions," the woman began.

"Which do not pertain to me because I am not bound by your instructions. Now, either escort me to my ship, or I shall find my own way."

A flash of fear crossed the woman's face before she nodded compliance.

Connor smiled. Just a bit longer until he could let the feelings out and revel.

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The king stretched his arms above his head, and rolled his head around with a smile on his face. "Exactly as planned. Losses?"

The young man at the computer stared at the screen, pulling up the analysis of the battle. "A moment." A few commands later, and he nodded in satisfaction. "Less than anticipated. 15% of our physical resources, 5% personnel, with another 5% with life threatening injuries, and then the normal collection of minor bumps and bruises. All in all, everyone performed better than anticipated. I would expect the numbers to rise as the enemy learns of our new fighting styles. Of course, should Connor do his job, then all bets are off."

"I believe we have done everything possible to make sure that Connor succeeds. If we can have the ten years, we will change the face of the galaxy forever."

"Yes, your majesty, as you say your majesty."

"How many times do I have to tell you not to call me that?"

"I have not yet decided, your majesty."

"Fine, then I will have _her_ majesty confer that barony on you directly, _my lord._ "

"Aw, man, c'mon, you cannot do that to the people. Who wants to listen to a scrawny geek of no discernable parentage?"

"Scrawny?"

"Ok, beefy, studly, mancake, but seriously, Cap. _Why_ would you do that to innocent Arusians?"

"Because we need a new nobility?"

"Nope."

"Because it will be a long ten years if we succeed?"

"Nope."

"Because it will make my pregnant wife happy?"

A long pause followed his words. "Damn it, anyway."

The king grinned and clapped his friend on the back. "Congratulations, my lord. Please see the seamstress for appropriate clothing for the ceremony. Oh, and be ready for the all the fathers and mothers who will be bringing their children by for your perusal."

"Shit."

"Yep."

"Can I refuse?"

"Do you think that would be smart?"

"Wish I could say something against your pregnant wife." A suspicious looked pinned the young king in place. "I am beginning to get the feeling the outcome was already assured."

The man grinned unrepentantly. "Hey, when you have a child on the way, tell me you will not indulge that person?"

The young man only stuck his tongue out and turned back to the computer screens. "Go away. I have stuff to do. Important geeky, non-nobility stuff of great importance."

He continued to mutter about stupid ass traditions and backwards planets that needed modernization and to come out of the dark ages of a monarchy as the king strolled out, a smile on his face. His wife would be most pleased. Looking at the communications pad in his hand, he found the location of his next victim as given to him by his beloved, and set out in the directions of the repair bay.

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	3. Chapter 3

Please allow me to address the comments on the dialogue with no ready identifiers.

Usually, when I write, it plays a bit like a movie in my head. I "see" the room, the characters, what they wear and dialogue. I "hear" tone of voice and attempt to convey both sight and sound. With this story, it has gone, well, weird. In the early dialogues, I only "heard" the characters, but not completely. It came across muffled. In some scenes, I have a decent idea of who is talking but not perfectly. Strangely enough, the dialogue has actually fleshed out some, so when I go back after the next two chapters the characters come out more clearly. Upon attempting to add more to those dialogues, it came out flat, forced, and wrong.

In this instance, I rely on you, the reader, to enter my strange world, and let yourself imagine the scene.

I did write this as a K&A story (you are welcome, Ms. Wells, and the rest of the K&A shipping crew!) and will confirm the identity of the King and Queen.

Without further ado: Back to Connor. Who decided he did not like having a bit part.

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After two days of waiting, Connor asked his perpetual escort to take him to the training area for gladiators. He wanted a closer look at their training techniques and the blades the witch had developed. His guards reluctantly agreed, having learned that Connor did not listen to restrictions imposed by anyone without perceived authority over him. The diplomat had finally explained in blunt words that he answered to no one but a ruling council, a representative of a ruling council or monarch, or the head of state of a direct representative. Since on this planet, this meant the King or his advisors, and Connor had not heard from either, he would go where he pleased; escort or no.

Unlike the rumors, no miasma of doom hung over the castle or its inhabitants. Connor did not find it different from any of the dozens of worlds he had visited. No matter how far each society of people advanced, some rules never changed. The old guard fought changes from the next generation. The outsiders tried to find a way in to make changes until they themselves became part of the old guard. Backstabbing, political maneuvering, and fights for position abounded. Money changed hands for favors, children and dynasties rose and fell on bets on policy and positions.

Connor found it intriguing how the King had balanced his reputation amongst rivals and enemies versus his reputation amongst his court. The court view him as a ruthless negotiator, battle-smart, and expedient in his dealings with defeated enemies. In their culture, defeated enemies had lower status than slaves, and should expect treatment of the same. Some of the oldest couriers lamented for the old days under the King's father's rule, when fashion dictated nothing of floor length because one did not want to stain the fabric of clothing with the blood of lesser. They spoke with fond memories of casual bloodletting in the hallways of defeated enemies and sometimes the duels fought amongst the couriers themselves with "real" blades and not these new-fangled blades that did not draw blood or cause permanent harm.

He smiled at how the older generation remained the same regardless of planet of origin or species.

Although he could empathize with the sentiment regarding the former ruthlessness of the court.

Bringing himself out of his musings, the diplomat found himself outside the gladiator training arena. His guides brought him to a single door and proceeded to station themselves one beside the door, and one across from the door. With an inward smile of amusement, Connor opened and walked through the door. Experience kept the surprise off his face and out of his body language as he walked into a thoroughly modern office rather than a gym, training facility, or similar space.

The background noise of people speaking to others, tapping computer screens or doing dictation filled the room with a quiet hum. A person of indeterminate gender sat at an obvious reception desk across from the entrance, speaking into a microphone. A smile and a finger held up in the universal gesture, of just a moment, I see you standing there, left Connor feeling bemused at the similarities between species. Technology had advanced to the point where no one needed to use headsets, keyboards, or mechanical writing devices, but people of every species clung to these old habits. Perhaps because most species learned best kinetically. Perhaps because others needed the outward symbols of productivity or communication. Of course, Connor mused, most people did not like the appearance of someone speaking to thin air.

With a final sound of farewell, the being in front of him looked up, "And how may I be of assistance today?"

"I hoped to view a training session today and perhaps speak to some of the gladiators."

"A moment, if you please, while I check." The person at the desk spoke into a microphone, switching languages from the Terran language to another. A rapid fire conversation took place, ending with the person looking up with a smile at Connor. "Thank you for your patience. Trainer M'vak will be out in a few moments to escort you back to our training facility. May I offer you any refreshment while you wait?"

"No, many thanks. Do you mind if I look around?"

"No sir. You have been granted unlimited access to our facility. Any of our staff will be happy to answer any questions you may have. Trainer M'vak is our lead trainer of this facility and has the knowledge and experience to answer any of your questions."

"I offer much appreciation."

The person at the desk smiled and then turned back to a computer screen and began speaking in a third language. Connor recognized it as Obrekian. He wondered what the foremost trainer of military would want with the facility here. As he waited for M'vak, he heard the receptionist shuffle call after call, and heard at least seven different languages. Impressive. Connor, himself, spoke over a dozen thanks to some implants of rapid learning. He continued to learn more languages as he could afford the upgrades to his software and hardware. Over his years as a diplomat, keeping the fact he spoke so many languages close to his chest, had given him a distinct advantage over others.

"Diplomat Vath?"

Connor tuned and allowed the surprise on his face to show. "Trainer M'vak?"

The other responded to his surprise with a rueful grin, "Yes. And before you ask, it has long been tradition for my family to train here. We are a large clan and many of us rotate through the position."

"I would not think Obrek would allow the export of one of its superior trainers."

"Here, we have the ability to test many different training methods, observe many different species and continue to learn and advance our own understanding." He turned and began to walk toward a set of double doors across the room, continuing to talk as Connor fell in step next to him, "While some techniques remain the same, some methods of training have not changed in millennia, we have the tradition of change. By sending trainers here, we make sure to change our perspectives so we do not rely on the same when other worlds and peoples continue to change. One of our early rules, Psh'tah discovered this."

Connor nodded, "I have read of Psh'tah's reign."

M'Vak grinned, "I think the realities of Psh'tah have long since been relegated to dust, but the sentiment remains."

As they entered the doors, Connor noticed a second set. M'vak answered the unasked question, "Because it works as a sound break."

As the first set of doors closed, the second opened, and Connor understood. The sounds of metal clanking, voices yelling, and the thuds and thumps of bodies hitting various objects filled the air. M'vak continued talking, "This is our main training room. As you can see, it is divided into sections. The gladiators rotate through the different sections on a specific schedule. I can give you as many specifics as you wish on our training routines here, so rather than me simply blathering on with details you do not want, please tell me what you wish to know."

Connor let his gaze scan the room, and the return for a slower perusal. "You speak flawless Terran."

"Aye. Spent a number of years at one of the Garrison Training facilities."

"You mentioned a family tradition?"

"Goes back about to before the current King here ascended the throne. He visited on part of a grand tour of the Galaxy and became intrigued with the gladiator program we have in my home town. He wanted to build one of his own, and after long and drawn out negotiations, my family was chosen for the program. Turned out a good thing for us. Built wealth, increased our reputation, and all those things connections with Royalty and rulers of planets give."

"Ah."

Connor began following an obvious path around the room, walking slowly passed each training session. M'vak matched his pace, and calling out comments on occasion to the participants in the different parts of the room. When Connor started on the second circuit he glanced at M'vak. "Tell me about these training swords,"

"Two versions. One for the actual combat and one strictly for training. The actual combat sword does deliver a very high shock of pain that will only slowly dissipate over a number of days. The training version delivers a small shock, but no more than a traditional hit with the flat of a blade. We use the training swords so as not to interrupt training with days of recovery."

"Ah. And how are these swords created."

"I can only answer partially. The King's Witch warps the swords so they no longer cut or burn flesh, but instead impact the pain response in the nerves. The swords are keyed to specific species so that a sword meant to hit a human's physiology will not cause a reaction in an Obrekian's or any other species. I know they Witch keys the swords with a sampling of a species DNA, but the magic process she uses is a secret only she and her acolytes know."

"Acolytes?"

M'vak nodded. "She has an coterie of magic users she trains. Rumor says she is looking for some specific magic, but rumor also says she is ugly as they day is long and crazy as well."

Connor raised an eyebrow, "Rumor?"

"Aye. She rarely appears in public, and usually sends minions to do her bidding."

"I see."

Connor watched for several minutes as fighters continued their routines, occasionally asking M'vak a question. M'vak started walking toward a door on the side of the training room. As they went through the door, the noise of the training room gave way to the sounds of fighting. The second room held two training circles, both occupied by multiple beings. In the first circle, three groups practiced under the watchful eye of an instructor. In the second, a being in a helmet gave a demonstration. Connor walked toward the demonstration, and then turned to M'Vak, looking for a translation, he did not need.

M'Vak took the hint and began giving a synopsis. "Nadon talks about the purpose of this demonstration and why this particular disarm technique works against specific series of moves. As you see, he moves very slowly and deliberately to show the proper form. He says that until the fighters perfect the move at the slowest possible pace, they will not have the privilege of moving faster. Only by teaching the muscles slowly does the body learn." M'Vak paused at Nadon moved through the same series of movements at increasing speed until his body moved almost too quickly to track the individual movements.

"To the Varta series?"

M'Vak look surprised and nodded. "You are familiar with sword play?"

Connor shrugged, self-depreciatingly. "I have studied, yes."

M'Vak called out to Nadon, who turned and nodded. "Would you care for a round with Nadon? He is one of our most senior trainers."

Connor pretended to consider appearing hesitant, inwardly smiling at how everything fell exactly as he wanted. Finally he nodded, "Yes. That would be good."

M'Vak nodded and then spoke a series of commands, which several of the members of the group jumped to obey. Within a few minutes, Connor found himself outfitted with a helmet and carrying one of the practice swords designed for his opponent. As he entered the ring, the trainer spoke in the common language of Garrison, heavily accented. "Fight, you have?"

Connor nodded, and spoke slowly and clearly. "Yes. For several years."

"Testing, we do, yes?"

"Yes."

"Then, ready."

With that the trainer adopted a stance to indicate his readiness for a sparring match. Connor saluted the trainer and then closed the distance between the two of them. The trainer nodded, and indicated he would wait for Connor's first strike.

With an inward smile, Connor advanced. For the next several minutes, the trainer ran Connor through an increasing level of difficultly to gauge his experience. Connor found himself pushed to continue to remember lessons and allow his body to respond rather than his head. When he missed a parry, Nadon pulled the strike and nodded.

"For a human, very good. Now watch." Nadon first ran through the attack sequence he used, and then slowed down the defense sequence for Connor to watch. Connor attempted to follow the defense sequence.

"No. No. Too stiff. Relax shoulder. Let flow."

Connor attempted again, and the trainer again interrupted and then looked up at the ceiling. "I move you, yes?"

"Yes."

The trainer stood beside Connor and reset his body. Immediately, the diplomat understood what Nadon asked. He ran through the sequence again, not flawlessly, but feeling that he had done it closer to correct. Nadon nodded, "Good. Now 50 times."

"50?"

"Or until arm does not move. Yes?:

Connor nodded slowly, and then began the sequence again. By the 20th slow repetition, his arm ached and his clothing felt damp. By the 30th repetition, his muscles began to shake and the sword tip dipped toward the floor. After the 34th repetition, Nadon put a hand on the sword. "Hold. Done you are. Go and find massage and water. First walk twice around room and stretch."

Connor could not muster the energy to reply, but peeled his hand from the hilt of the weapon and allowed someone to take it from his hand. As he started walking, M'Vak fell in step beside him. "Nadon is impressed you made it past 20 repetitions, much less 30. He did not think a human diplomat would have such endurance."

Connor grunted, and took the water bottle another trainer handed him, swallowing deeply.

"You have a standing invitation from Nadon personally to train."

Connor nodded, but inwardly he smiled. Everything continued to proceed according to plan.

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"Cormak."

"Cormak? What kind of name is Cormak?"

"From an ancient Earth culture. Means Chariot Driver."

"What a Chariot?"

"Two wheeled device pulled by two horses. Often used in battles."

"No. Gulpar."

"Gulping down your food? Nope. Ansgar Warrior."

"Too cliché."

"Kallian. The Peacemaker."

"Lovely sentiment. Too hard to live up to."

"Oh for the love of Pete!"

The pair startled and looked up at the interruption.

"You two have done nothing but argue about names for the last two months. TWO. MONTHS. The rest of us have decided. As the child's best looking Godfather/Uncle/Best Thing to Happen to Him, I declare the argument is at an end. Arthur. We are naming him Arthur Kantu. Arthur after the legendary king who united all the tribes of Britain against the invaders and brought a golden age to the Isles and Kantu, after your Grandfather, Queenie."

"Don't call me Queenie."

"Don't change the subject."

The Queen glared for a moment longer at one of her husband's closest friends and advisors before turning to look at her King. "Arthur?"

The man reached over to pick up his wife's hand, "Arthur Kantu." He kissed the palm of her hand and smiled before caressing her belly. "Excited to meet you Arthur Kantu."

Applause from the rest of the room had the couple looking up and laughing at their friend as he took bows and put his two hands together into a large fist and waved them to the right and the left of his head in victory.

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Connor entered the nearly empty throne room, in a state of anticipation. He would either receive word of his success or he would become a permanent part of the king's displays. The man could hardly contain his excitement and took a moment to compose himself. He stopped in front of the dais, and gave a small bow to the ruler and then a nod of acknowledgement to the witch at his side.

"Word has finally arrived from my fleet. It will take them months to arrive at home, and as you predicted, the losses exceeded anything previous. We grant the temporary truce while we await the arrival of the fleet and can more closely question the commanders. You will remain our guest indefinitely. Go and tell your masters our decision."

The king waved his hand at Connor, who wisely said nothing but simply bowed and turned to walk out of the room. It took all his discipline to not pump a fist in the air in celebration. He felt a presence behind him and turned to see the witch walking next to him.

"You are different from other humans."

"I am sure I do not understand."

"Do not play coy. You do not resonate like a human. You do not stink of fear or anxiety or trepidation. At the gladiator games, you showed curiosity and enjoyment, and almost a sense of anticipation. I do not feel emotion from you as most humans."

"I have served as a diplomat, a hostage negotiator and an arbitrator for many years. Perhaps you simply see the culmination of training and experience." He continued to look forward, only glancing at the witch from the corner of his eye as they walked down the corridor toward his ship.

The witch laughed. "Come now. You play games. Do give me credit for studying humans."

Connor paused and gave the witch a small bow. "As you will." He paused to think about how much to reveal. "There are a few humans like me, scattered mostly among the colonies. On the primary human worlds, technology has grown to identify the gene mutation which causes us, and viral therapy can and does correct the mutation. On the colonies and outer worlds, the gene mutation often goes undetected or the worlds do not have enough resources do to non-essential corrections. Too, some families choose not to do corrections."

"All fascinating, I am sure, but that does not answer my question."

"No, it does not."

The two continued to walk down the hallways. The diplomat could feel the witch studying him as they walked, and simply ignored the study with ease of long practice.

"Rumor claims you have lived several human lifespans, lack any redeeming qualities, and can curdle milk by simply looking at it."

"Does rumor also suggest I punish severely those who dare tell me?"

Connor shrugged. "If you punished as many people as the rumors claim, I would have to cook my own meals and clean my own quarters. Since I am too lazy to do that, it is a good thing rumors lie."

Connor paused as the witch let out a true laugh, rather than the depreciating chuckle.

"Ah, diplomat, you are indeed a worthy opponent. Your queen chose well."

"In actuality, I have neither king nor queen."

"You do not look to Arus?"

"No."

He could feel the witch sorting through his answers. "And where does your loyalty lie, then, young diplomat?"

"With the alliance, of course."

"You did not say which alliance."

"No, I did not."

The witch moved to stand in front of Connor, bringing them both to a halt. She studied him from underneath her cowl, her face shadowed. "You play a long game here. I am not sure of what it means, but I will find out."

Connor shrugged and stepped around the witch to continue toward his ship. "As you will. I only follow my directives from my employers." He stepped into his ship and allowed the doors to close behind him.

The witch tapped a finger against her lips as she considered the young man. After a few moments, she turned and took a single step before disappearing from view.

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Author's note: My Great-grandfather McCormak (Or McCormack) became McCormick when he emigrated to America. A truly fun tale!


	4. Chapter 4

Alternate Arus, Chapter 4

Connor waited in the small briefing room for the king and his advisor to appear. He knew they must have heard from their fleet. He allowed himself a small smile as he thought of the payback that must have occurred. Regardless of what he told the witch and his declarations of neutrality, he found himself firmly on Arus' side of the table. He had spoken to too many people impacted by the Drule Empire and by this king in particular. He knew that the everyday people of the empire did not necessarily support or even know about the activities of the ruling class, which allowed him to focus solely on the king and his witch.

After a protracted wait, Connor rose from his seat as the king and his witch entered the room. He did not bow or offer greeting, watching as the nearly invisible waves of fury emanated off the king. Connor forced himself to stay relaxed, and focused on keeping his heartbeat slow and steady and his breathing even. He knew if any harm would come, it would come in this moment. He took a moment to savor the unknown and then returned his focus to the king in front of him.

The king left him standing for nearly ten minutes, simply staring and taping one finger nail on the table in front of him. Other than the palatable fury and the rhythmic tapping of his finger, the king made no movement.

"If this treaty is not granted?"

"Their majesties have instructed me to relay the following. 'The terms of engagement have changed. Our people and our planet will no longer allow the continued eroding of Our resources and Our people. Therefore, should the cease fire not proceed, Arus will no longer wage a defensive battle.'"

The witch neither moved nor spoke. The king continued to tap his finger, his gaze unblinking, filled with wrath and loathing. As the tension ratcheted up, Connor focused on keeping the king's gaze, fighting to keep his heartrate, breathing, and mind calm. The anticipation and uncertainty working together toward a state a euphoria.

"We accept the terms and conditions of the treaty. Witch!"

"At your command, sire."

"If this _human_ stands on my planet in an hour, he is your next laboratory experiment."

"At your command, sire."

Connor bowed and prudently started backing toward the door. "Sire."

"Human."

Connor paused.

"You have proven a worthy advisory, and We do relish one and rarely see a human capable of standing against Us. Since We feel the need to punish someone, We feel it prudent to send you away."

Connor bowed again, deeper, without breaking eye contact, "Sire, I accept the compliment and look forward to our next encounter."

The king said nothing further, only continuing to watch Connor with rage. The witch glided across the floor to stand in front of Connor, breaking the staring contest between King and diplomat. "If you would?"

Connor nodded, and turned to leave the room. He fought and won the battle to look over his shoulder. As soon as the door closed, he turned, and ran for the hanger. Even though he had left his ship in a quick start state, anticipating the need for a hurried withdrawal, having only an hour to make the journey to this ship, disengage the auto-destruct, gain clearance, and gain enough distance from the planet to avoid the King's wrath would make things very dicey. As he ran, Connor allowed himself one brief burst of satisfaction at a job well done. He had accomplished everything his employers demanded, and managed to garner some useful souvenirs and information. As he subvocalized to the ship to prepare for departure, he picked up some speed as the count-down continued. Celebration would come later. A very well-deserved celebration, indeed.

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Years of answering summons in the middle of the night had the king answering the call, even before his eyes had opened or he had registered being woken. "Your majesty, we have an incoming transmission from Diplomat Vath."

"About damn time. Route it to me."

"At your command."

The king reached for his ear piece, while reaching over to give his wife a kiss to wake her up. "Transmission from Connor."

She opened her eyes to see her husband climb out of bed to pace while he listened to the recording. The queen watched as her love's face took on a very satisfied look, followed by a calculating gleam. As the transmission ended he whooped and pumped his fist in the air. The Queen found herself tearing up. "It's over? We have peace?"

The King tossed his ear piece onto the bedside table then slid under the covers to hover himself over his wife and lean in for a very long kiss. "We have our ten years."

"We need to tell everyone!"

"It is 3am. I think we can let everyone have, O, another 45 minutes of sleep before the celebrations begin?"

The queen smiled as she ran her hand down the very fit, _very_ happy husband on top of her. "Or an hour."

The king leaned in for another kiss. "An hour."

XX XX XX XX XX XX XX XX XX XX XX

"Connor Vath to Arus Command. Repeat Connor Vath to Arus Command. En route to home base with full report. Have only 30 minutes left to leave planet and very large, very very wrathful subject. Terms accepted. Repeat. Terms accepted. Connor Vath out."

The room erupted again in cheers as the recording played for the umpteenth time.

"I am going to take a real vacation. One with a beach and a cadre of beautiful beach bunnies. . . No! A secluded cabin in the woods with a devoted fan girl or three. . . No! A luxury suite on a secluded beach!"

"Dude? Really? We just finally handed that megalomaniac a decisive defeat, gained ten years, and you want to spend time with beach bunnies? You so stole my idea!"

"Ok look, we can split the beach bunnies. Half for you and half for me, so that we cannot disappoint anyone."

"I can work with that!"

"Lance! Darrell!"

"Yes, Queenie?"

"Don't call me Queenie!"

"Can we at least have ten minutes to celebrate before you and Mr. I-am-not-happy-if-I-am-not-working bust our asses? I mean, according to the logs, Connors transmission came over an hour ago." Lance turned a mock glare on his Queen, while his Commander just sat back in his chair with his hands behind his neck and a smirk on his face.

"And you thought I was foolish for giving up the bachelor life? It has it's perks! Ow!" The king rubbed his arm and looked at his wife. "What was that for."

"Because."

"Because?"

"That's it. Because."

The room erupted in laughter, as the Queen crossed her arms over her pregnant belly and stuck her tongue out at the king, who just rolled his eyes and exchanged the male look of sympathy with his best friend over dealing with a spouse. As the room settled down, a more serious look fell over the King's face.

"We will have to go and collect Connor from the rendezvous. I do not trust Zarkon as far as I can throw him. Wait, as far as Lance can throw him. . "

"Hey!"

"Allura and I discussed it, and I will be personally going because we need someone with sufficient authority at the rendezvous to finalize the negotiations there. Once those are completed, we will continue to Malaz. I will have to be present to deal with Kana Valluk. She will not accept anything less than me. We need to move on this, so planning on leaving in two days. Allura will take care of the proclamations here and start moving on the secondary negotiation targets."

"Wow boss. We had a whole 30 seconds of celebration before you start us working again? What about my beach?"

The king smiled, "That is why we are leaving in TWO days, Lance. Today is for celebrating, tomorrow is for packing."

"In that case, I am outta here! Tschuss!" With that exclamation, Lance fairly leapt out of his chair and beelined for the door. With Lance's departure, the exodus started until only Keith and Allura remained. Keith held out his hand, and pulled Allura into his lap when she took his. They stayed cuddled together with Allura's resting her head on Keith's shoulder, and Keith stroking her growing stomach.

"Allura. . . "

"We discussed this possibility, Keith. There is no choice. Kana Valluk will NOT accept anyone else. And we need Malaz on board as soon as possible. We cannot afford to grow complacent, and, and, and, you know all this."

"It does not mean I like it."

"Regardless of how far we advance technologically speaking, we will never be able to travel instantly and as long as beings live in the universe, there will be conflict. Life cannot come into existence without conflict and competition. As long as we have conflict, we will need soldiers. Which means military families will be separated. I don't HAVE to like it. In fact, I hate the fact you will miss the birth of our son, but . . ."

"But. I know. I know. I just wish there was a different path."

"Me too. But we are going to change the Universe, Keith. We are going to make a place for Arthur, his siblings, and make one part of the Universe better."

"I know. I know."

Allura sighed and put her hand over Keith's on her stomach. "Just come back soon to us."

"You know it."

"Suddenly I am feeling very, hmmmm, tired."

"Can I escort you back to your rooms, your Majesty for some, hmmmm, rest?"

"I think that would be fabulous."

Keith grinned and suddenly stood, keeping his wife in his arms.

"Keith!"

"Allura!"

The couple just started laughing as Keith carried his wife the short distance to their suite.

XX XX XX XX XX XX XX XX XX XX XX


End file.
